New Baptism

I wish I brought a video camera, if only to help explain what it's like here when the strong sun gets pushed aside, and the rains finally roll in.

It's Sunday, and I'm in Tamale again, relaxing temporarily at the EWB compound house before the beginning of the week-long CIFS training tomorrow, and I feel as though I have been given another start at this experience. Through the course of the last two days I've had the opportunity to relate some of my difficulties with the other volunteers, be in a social environment again, talk to my whole family, meet some incredible Ghanaians, and stomach a whole meal. It feels as though I'm getting my physical and emotional strength back a bit, and this means I can finally take the small steps I need to build my foundations in this organization, in PARED, and in Nalerigu. After a day of roaming the streets trying for supplies on a non-market day, having my first real (and shaking) encounter with some Ghanaian men's penchants for Canadian girls, and being denied my favourite internet cafe due to religious practice, the clouds flowed into the sky at an alarming and amazing speed, and all the water that the world has been holding for us fell heavy like cool, clear lead. Ryan, Courtney and I rushed outside to collect the runoff in an attempt to offset the brutal shortages in the area from the dry season, and as it soaked me through (and for the first time since I got here I actually felt -cold-), I felt like Ghana was washing the week off me and giving me another go. I only get to do this once; I am a Canadian in Ghana, trying to understand, which is a gargantuan challenge—but these are kind people, and I am a capable person, and while I'm here, I'll see what I can do. Confidence restored, at least temporarily. Lets do this!

Two nights ago, the rains ripped through Nalerigu. The concrete walls of the guesthouse were wailing at the wind, and the rolling, rolling thunder and lightning bass-pounded and strobe-lit my room after it thoroughly took out all our power. Clinging to my coworker on the back of his motorcycle, I saw zinc roofs lying twisted, walls collapsed. I didn't take pictures; I'd have felt like a disaster pornographer. Nalerigu has 1,000 proud and capable people, but certainly not unlimited means, materials or time. I worry about what they will do, where they will stay, whether it will be their farms or their families that suffer first. I worry about how strong this storm we just passed through will be when it hits them.

Subsistence farming makes it necessary to have a strange relationship with the rains; they're your respite from the Harmattan winds, your only irrigation, and the keystone of feeding your family, and they breed diseased mosquitoes, sweep away your soil and sterilize your land, rip your home to pieces, and flood your towns and cities. Too little rain will disarm a community in their fight to survive; too much will make survival impossible. Communities that we volunteer in today are still suffering the effects of last year's flood, and farmers who have experienced bumper crops in the past are importing these same foods from Korea to still be able to eat. Through the course of this season, my job could fluctuate, intensify, or even disappear, and it all depends on the rains.

Kind of wish we had a weatherman.

I'll write more during the week, and post again on the weekend. I may as well take advantage of Tamale while I can!

Keep me in your thoughts,
-Ash